I
love crows
as
people sometimes love cruel guardians,
their
black dilapidated skirts
de-frocked
whisky priests, my heart
goes
out to them, their terrible flapping,
pathetic
legs, our desolation.
We
live in leaflessness together.
There
is no family life here
in
the winter forest.
Isn’t
it better
to be
be starkly visible,
black
truths stalking the margins
of
ghostly ballrooms with a curse,
to be
waiting in dead gardens?
All
my journeys are winter journeys
across
the lines left by silence.
Today
the sky streams backwards
we walk starved on
cracked ice.
Gahagan is an Anglo-American poet
and psychologist. In 1994 she wrote of the selection including “Together with
Crows”: “These and many others of my poems are written in a state of mind
fallen into disfavour in the last fifty years – the enraptured subjectivity of
the impersonal but lyrical Ich of German romanticism… I want to express the
feeling of participatory consciousness and enchantment which the natural world
invokes and to express a sense of connection between that world and the human –
both inner and personal and outer and political.”
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